Fanfiction: Faithless

CHAPTER TWO: INSECURE

Knock-knock-knock

Knock-knock

Knock-knock-knock-knock-kn-

"No, not again," Faith muttered, still half asleep. "Go away." She pulled the pillow over her head in an attempt to make the noise stop, but it was incessant, and it wasn't going to be denied. Getting out from under the covers, shoes on, still dressed in her wet clothes, she made it only a few feet from the bed before she toppled into the wall, nearly dislodging her ancient TV set from its perch on a small table. Shocked awake by this rather unexpected event, she tried to get herself upright, but she couldn't seem to do it. Her eyes were having trouble focusing; the room seemed a complete blur, as if a toddler with spray paint had gone ballistic. A complete lack of light wasn't helping matters any; Faith was amazed that she had even made it as far as the wall without some catastrophe befalling her in the gloom. The temperature also seemed abnormally cold, although she noticed that she was sweating. She wiped her forehead with her arm and gave a little gasp as she was immediately rewarded with a searing flash of pain from one of her still-raw cuts. Was everything going wrong today?

In addition to these other maladies, the knocking was giving her a headache. "Hold on, will you?" she said to the door, which seemed to be an eternity away from her current position. Stretching out her left arm against the wall for stability, she started making her way towards her target, glad that whoever or whatever was on the other side had at least decided to shut up for a moment. She sidestepped around the TV and scooted against the wall for the last few feet until she was finally in range of the handle. But when she reached out to grab it, she missed. She tried again. Miss. Again. Miss. It seemed to be moving, and Faith was in no state to try to catch it, so she concentrated hard on the spot where she thought it to be, caught a quick glimpse of it through the dark haze of her vision, and grabbed it at last. It occurred to her that she might be dreaming, and that everything would be just fine once she woke up. No fight with Buffy, no cuts, no bruises. Gladdened by the small success of catching the fleeing doorknob, but inwardly distressed because she knew that this was no dream, she twisted the handle and opened the door. And there, standing in the twilit mist streaming from the sky, a perfect example of beauty underneath a black umbrella, was Buffy.

"Shit. I was wrong. This really is a dream," Faith said under her breath. Apparently she hadn't slept long because Buffy was dressed in the same clothes that she'd had on earlier. Night was approaching fast, and the storm had tapered off into a half-hearted drizzle. Trying to casually lean against the door so as not to give Buffy any clue of weakness, Faith crossed her arms and opened the conversation with a friendly greeting. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Buffy winced at the bitterness in Faith's tone. "I...uh...look, I'm sorry at the way I snapped at you this afternoon," she said apologetically. "Usually that attitude's reserved for Cordelia, but I've just been having a bad day and---"

"That's hilarious," Faith cut in, her earlier rejection still fresh in her mind. "So Buffy's having a bad day, huh? Somehow I don't think you know the meaning of the phrase, B."

"That's not true. But it's also not the point right now," Buffy responded. "I came by to apologize and to see how you were doing."

"I'm five by five, B. You know me." This response was so automatic for Faith that she barely even registered the fact that it was a terrible lie. How could she possibly explain that her life was falling apart? That everyone and everything seemed to exist solely to hurt her? Easier just to lie, put on a fake smile, and continue the charade. She tried to cover up the cuts on her arms by putting them behind her back. Even though Faith was surrounded by the absolute darkness emanating from the room, Buffy still saw the gesture.

"Are your arms okay?" she asked, knowing that it was in Faith's nature to try to appear hard and untouchable. Faith, for her part, seemed almost confused by this question, as if she couldn't decide how to respond. The cold air from outside was making her shiver, clothed as she was in her wet apparel from earlier. After a few seconds of dead silence, the only sound being the almost inaudible windblown mist hitting the pavement, she mustered her willpower, moved away from the door, and held her arms out in front of her so that Buffy could see the terrible marks the knife had left in her flesh.

"Do they look okay to you?"

"Oh my god, Faith...I'm so sorry."

"Spare me the tears and the apologies, B. I've heard it all before."

Faith's vision was getting progressively worse even as she spoke. There were now two of Buffy. Buffy Number One appeared to be moving, while Buffy Number Two was inexplicably standing still. And standing fully upright was becoming an uphill battle that she wasn't sure she could win. Her legs seemed abnormally weak, and she felt the indescribably pleasant feeling of being on the verge of passing out, but she was too proud to admit her weakness. Conflicting thoughts raced through her mind; could she forgive Buffy's earlier betrayal, or was that too much to ask? Forgiveness had never been a big theme with Faith, especially since she generally felt that the world had a personal vendetta against her. Hate was simpler.

Buffy was about to say something in return when she noticed two things: first, that Faith was actually swaying from side to side, and second, that Faith's eyes, although aimed right at Buffy, were looking through her instead of at her. Concerned that her friend might be both physically and mentally exhausted, Buffy tried to think of something she could say to make everything all right between them.

"Faith, can I please come inside?" she asked, gesturing towards the room. "Then we can talk this over where it's warm. And I think your clothes are wet. You should probably change out of them."

Taking offense to this blatant advice, Faith managed to say, "I don't need..." before she scrunched up her face, closed her eyes hard, and brought her hands to her head. Buffy started to offer assistance, but Faith stretched out one arm to push her back. Blackness was encroaching on the edges of Faith's vision, and when she opened her eyes again, the image of Buffy became so distorted that she just closed her eyes instead of having to look at it. "I don't...I don't need your...need your...your...help..." And with that, she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Dropping her umbrella on the pavement, Buffy rushed forward. Grabbing Faith under the arms, she dragged her friend into the room and laid her down on the bed, and then went and closed the door in an effort to make the room as warm as possible. She had to grope around in the darkness a bit before she found the light switch, but she finally located it and clicked it on, bathing the room in an arid yellow glow that made everything seem even more desolate than it usually appeared in the daylight.

Taking off Faith's boots and socks, Buffy tossed them aside and put the covers over her comatose friend. She then found the thermostat but was surprised to find out that it wasn't even turned on. Clicking it to a warm temperature, Buffy took a moment to look about the room. She'd been in Faith's room before, of course, but had never truly bothered to inspect it closely, partly out of embarrassment, but also partly out of pity. Faith's possessions, many of them close to worthless anyhow, numbered in the single digits, but Buffy would have needed a database to track everything back at her house. Her eyes wandered slowly over the scene: cracked walls, drawers that were falling apart, outdated electronics, a sick girl alone in a bed. Unsure of what else she could do to help and uncomfortable being surrounded by the stark poverty that was Faith's life, Buffy kissed Faith's forehead and turned to leave. She gave one last look over her shoulder, and then she stepped outside into the rain and closed the door.

When Faith woke up the following morning, she was startled to find a small, furry demon sitting on her stomach. She involuntarily gave a little jump of surprise, and the demon lost its balance and fell onto the floor with a muffled thud. It didn't cry out in pain or shock. Breathing heavily from getting such a rude awakening, Faith calmed her nerves enough to peak over the edge of the bed, where the demon was lying face down on the carpet. She shot out her hand and grabbed it by its furry brown neck, eliciting a strange squeal from its mouth.

"GET WELL SOON!" the demon squeaked as Faith brought it closer. After a split second of confusion, she realized that the demon was actually just a small teddy bear, clutching a plush red heart between its little paws. Its beady, black eyes stood in contrast to its disgustingly happy smile. She squeezed it again, and it repeated the only three words it knew: "GET WELL SOON!"

Faith couldn't decide whether she wanted to hug the furry intruder or rip its head off, so she just lay back down, placed the bear on her stomach again, and proceeded to glare at it. Eventually she tired of the staring contest, for the teddy bear was an unbeatable foe due to its blank, unchanging countenance. It was born happy, and would die happy. Must be a nice way to live, she thought. What if I could be happy all the time? But true happiness was so foreign to Faith that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the concept of a life filled with it, so she abandoned this line of thinking and let her mind wander instead. Nice and warm under the covers, she felt better than she had yesterday, when she'd been battered and cold. Remembering the fight with Buffy, Faith felt antagonistic feelings rise to the surface, but then she also remembered how Buffy had come to apologize later.

This contrast between Buffy's actions was distressing for Faith, who wanted the simplicity of one feeling, not two. On one hand, she felt hatred for the way she'd been treated after being attacked by the vampires, but on the other, she felt something akin to gratitude for the help she'd received while sick. Was the bear a testament to the genuine concern Buffy felt, or was it just a way to get back in Faith's good graces? Faith didn't know what to believe. And the bear wasn't offering any assistance.

Scooting up so she could sit with her back against the headboard, she clutched the bear in her hands and placed it on the tiny bedside table, where it promptly lost its balance again and fell over on its face. Paying no heed its plight, Faith yawned and stretched out her arms. They were already looking better; the jagged lines were less visible, and with the rate they were healing, probably wouldn't even leave scars. Additionally, her head no longer ached, and as an added bonus, her vision had returned to its normal, flawless state. Everything the room was sharply outlined; no blurry edges anywhere. And it seemed as though the storm had finally passed during the night because Faith couldn't detect the changeless sound she associated with rain.

She wondered if she had the strength to stand. Figuring that there was only one way to find out, she pushed aside the covers from her legs, swung them over the side of the bed, and prepared herself for the worst case scenario: Faith versus the floor. Her feet touched the carpet, and she slowly rose up to her full height.

"No collapsing this time around," she said to herself. The only explanation for her quick recovery was that her immune system, fueled by her Slayer gifts, had been working overtime all throughout the night. "Time to see if the outside world still sucks." And with that, not wanting to overexert her body, she slowly went to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and blinked her eyes against the brilliant day. The sun, having returned from its gray exile, was shining haughtily in the azure, cloudless sky. She opened the window; a slight, pure breeze was all that remained of the storm. Amazing the difference a single night could make. Her mood improved by this bright revelation, she closed the door and set about making her bed. Even this mundane task was slightly pleasing, a welcome distraction that kept her thoughts from venturing towards the events of yesterday, and she placed the bear on top of the pillows. It seemed to enjoy silently surveying its quilted kingdom.

Grabbing some spare clothes, Faith made her way towards the bathroom, intent on taking a shower and washing away her feelings. As soon as she caught her own reflection in the mirror, however, she dropped the clothes in surprise and revulsion. Leaning closer so as to get a better view, her hands unconsciously traced the contours of the face that seemed unreal: a pale, hollow face that she had trouble recognizing. Never one for spending large amounts of time in the sun, she'd always lacked excess coloring, but this was different. Now the whiteness of her skin only accentuated features that were ugly: the dark circles under her eyes from a lack of sleep that spanned months; the cut on her lip from yesterday's struggle; the unsightly bruise that had developed around her jaw as a result of being punched in the face by a creature with preternatural strength. She let her hands fall away from her face. Her dark brown hair, showing the unmistakable traits of being soaked and then neglected, hung limply down over her shoulders as if it were dead. The white t-shirt she'd never changed out of, stained with blood, was a gruesome testament to violence and a lifestyle that was wearing catastrophically thin.

Faith stared at her reflection, and her wide, sad eyes stared back. Flashes of rain and blood, of mistrust and betrayal, flashed through her mind. In between these thoughts came sporadic images of Buffy; Buffy smiling, Buffy sneering, Buffy condescendingly saying that Faith was neither a good Slayer nor a good friend. This is your fault, Buffy was saying from her position on the mirror, where Faith's reflection had been a moment before. All your fault. You could've done more. You could've done better.

"Shut up," Faith quietly said to the Buffy in the mirror. "Just shut up."

You wish you could be like me...don't you? the Buffy in the mirror asked, as Faith involuntarily took a step back in an attempt to distance herself from this living nightmare. I can see it in your eyes, that pathetic need to be accepted and loved. You aren't like me, and you never will be. You're weak. Unimportant.

Faith shut her eyes and tried to cover her ears. "You're not real," she said. "You're in my head."

Is that what you think?

She reopened her eyes. "It's what I know. The real Buffy helped me last night. She cares about me. She said...she said she was sorry."

Believe what you like, Faith, mirror-Buffy replied. The truth is, I'll never care about you, and I certainly don't want to be your friend. Look at this grand life you've got going here. You think anyone would even bat an eye if you just dropped of the face of the planet?

The bathroom light flickered for an instant, enough time for Faith to reach up and wipe her eyes. Buffy would only make fun of the tears if she saw them. "I...I thought you cared about me. You said..."

What I said was a lie. I'm telling you now, so listen carefully: I don't care about you. I never have, and I never will. And neither will anybody else. Not me, not Angel, not Giles. No one.

It was too much. Faith lashed out and punched Buffy in the face. There was a terrible shattering sound, but Buffy didn't fall. She just stood there, laughing at Faith through her disjointed, fragmented visage.

Sorry, Faith. It doesn't work that way. You can't get rid of me.

"Fuck you!" Faith screamed. "Fuck you!" She punched the glass again. "Just leave me alone!" Tapping into all of her hatred, she struck the mirror again and again until she couldn't see straight, and then she fell to the floor, clutching her bloodied fist in her left hand. Furiously wiping away her tears, she began ripping from her torn knuckles all the glass fragments that had become imbedded there during her assault on Buffy. Paying no heed to the pain, using it only to fuel her anger, she threw the reddened glass against the wall. Her hand was shaking from the blunt trauma it had received, blood seeping out of it and dripping drop by drop onto the tile. She blankly stared at the macabre contrast between her crimson blood and the white floor.

Long after the flow of blood had stopped and the pain had disintegrated into numbness, she stood up. The bathroom was a hopeless wreck. Glass, some shards reflective, others opaque and red, lined the sink and the floor. She didn't look where she was going and stepped on a few pieces. She didn't even flinch. In some places she'd punched the mirror with such force that there were holes in the wall behind it. But Faith only saw herself, looking even worse than before, when she glanced into what remained of the mirror. Buffy was gone.

She turned and walked out the bathroom, heedlessly crunching more glass beneath her bare feet. The teddy bear was sitting right where she'd left it, the same stupid, everlasting smile pasted on its face and the same small red heart clutched in its paws. Faith sat down next to it, struggling through her feelings. Finally she reached out her injured right hand and gently picked the bear up by one of its legs. It grinned at her in its perpetual glee, and she gave it a little squeeze.

"GET WELL SOON!" it said happily.

Faith gave it a miserable, melancholic smile in return. And then she tore it to pieces.

Most of her hatred had abated some hours later through the acts of cleaning the bathroom of the blood-smeared glass, showering, and reading a magazine that she'd leafed through at least eight times before. Not wanting to have anything to do with the world that lurked beyond the door, Faith had shut the window and closed the drapes, effectively blocking the sunlight from entering the room. The remains of Buffy's furry gift and most of the glass shards had been crudely shoved under the bed where they mingled with the cracked circuits and warped plastic of the forgotten alarm clock. She'd combed out her hair, which now fell gracefully down to her shoulders, put on some dark maroon lipstick to offset her fair skin, and given a minimalist effort with her other makeup. With a simple, carefree smile she could have been transformed into the epitome of beauty.

But she had no reason to smile.

Her thoughts kept returning to what had transpired in the bathroom. Faith wasn't entirely clear as to how her mind had played such a lucid trick. She wasn't stupid, and she realized that Buffy had never really been there, but she was still deeply injured by what had been said. Though she'd never admit it to herself or anyone else, her ultimate weakness revolved around the fear that she would go through life alone; that no one would take the time to love her or even to just be her friend. This fear was buried so deep within Faith's unconscious that she wasn't even fully aware that it existed; all she knew was that insults aimed at her perpetual loneliness hurt her more than any physical pain ever could.

Lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, she glanced at the corporeal manifestation of this fear: her wounded right hand, still sore from the needlelike glass that she'd ripped from it. The cuts up and down the knuckles were a sad testament to how hard she'd battled to keep that awful part of her unconscious from surfacing and personifying itself in the form of the only person that Faith couldn't bear to be abandoned by. Naturally, she didn't actually know why she'd felt so utterly betrayed, mostly because to understand that would be to comprehend her most dreaded fear, and her mind simply wouldn't let itself be tortured in that manner. So, even after hours of brooding on the subject, she still felt bewildered and couldn't shake the feeling that she had been unjustly punished. Buffy couldn't really be blamed, but Faith no longer knew whether Buffy's intentions were as honest as they seemed. In reality, Faith's personal insecurities had caused her to doubt the motives of her only friend.

Knock-knock-knock.

She knew who it was before the second knock had even begun. It could only be Buffy, come to see if Faith had "gotten well soon". Pushing her disturbing ruminations to the back of her mind, she rolled off the bed and onto her feet, giving herself a quick once-over as she strode towards the door. She'd dressed in a cute, tomboyish wife beater despite the fact that the cuts on her arms were still plainly discernable. Black pants and her still-damp boots from the day before completed her simple, colorless outfit. Her heart had been broken earlier when she had been unable to find her favorite jacket; she knew that she couldn't afford to purchase another one. Taking a deep breath of preparation, she opened the door.

Buffy looked uncomfortable out of embarrassment or pity, as she usually did when visiting Faith at the motel. The afternoon sun was blazing down upon Sunnydale, and as temperatures rose, Buffy's clothes inevitably tended to disappear bit by bit. Gone was the cold-weather garb of the day before, replaced by a fashionable red dress that was accented by little tan sandals and a black purse. Her blonde hair was artfully put up in direct disparity with Faith's unconstrained brown locks.

"Hi," Buffy said, unsure of how to properly begin the conversation that had ended so terribly the night before.

"Hey," Faith answered, arms crossed over her chest. A small silence ensued, neither girl making much of an effort to keep the exchange flowing. "Just get out of school?"

"Yeah. Uh...how are you?" asked Buffy, slightly afraid that the question was somehow out of line in Faith's eyes.

"Better, actually. And...thanks for helping me last night."

Buffy's face perked up a bit when she heard the gratitude in Faith's tone. Pleased that their friendship had been reaffirmed by this statement, she asked, "Did you like the bear?"

There was an imperceptible darkening in Faith's features. "Yeah, it's wicked cool. I just love it to pieces," she said.

"It is full of cuteness, isn't it?" said Buffy. She looked at the ground for a moment, and then she continued. "I actually wanted to ask you, if you're not busy or anything later, because I know that you've got plans a lot of the time, which is totally fine, too, but um, if you're not doing anything, we were all going to get some cappuccinos later tonight, and I know you might have something planned because it's Friday, but it would be great if you could come. And wow, was that a long sentence."

Faith's mind went into overdrive, thinking of how to respond. This was her chance to be part of the group, to finally belong. It was all she'd ever wanted, and yet she couldn't forget the image of Buffy in the bathroom mirror and what it had said: I don't want to be your friend. Was this just some cruel joke that Buffy was orchestrating? Maybe, but if she turned down the offer, her chances of ever fitting in would be truly dashed, and there would be no hope of gaining the solid friendship that she so desperately wanted. She was about to accept when her thoughts strayed back to the bathroom. I don't care about you. I never have, and I never will. And neither will anyone else. The words echoed within her skull until they drowned out everything else.

"I think there's a party or something going on tonight," Faith said, trying to put confidence into the lie. Buffy's smile started to fade.

"Oh," was all that she said in response, her eyes going to the ground once more.

"But," Faith quickly added, anxious to avoid burning her last bridge, "if it falls through, would it...still be okay if I came?"

The smile on Buffy's face was instantly restored, and Faith inwardly let out a sigh of relief. "Sure, I'll just write down the time and the place," Buffy said, rummaging through her purse until she came up with a pen and a small pad of paper, "and you just make it if you can." She scribbled an address and a time onto the pad, ripped off the top sheet, and handed it to Faith.

"All right, B. No promises, but we'll see," she said, grasping the paper tightly in both hands. Buffy seemed satisfied with this answer and didn't comment on the fresh gashes all over Faith's right hand, revealed when Faith had reached out her arm for the paper.

"Hope to see you there." And with that, Buffy started to walk away, heading in the direction of her house.

"Buffy!" Faith called out from the doorway after her friend had gone a few yards. Buffy stopped and turned around. Faith struggled to find the right word. "Thanks."

Buffy smiled again. "Sure." And then she turned back around and walked off down a side street.

Faith stepped back inside her room and quietly closed the door. She immediately went over to her dresser and put the paper on top, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed from where she'd held it so tightly. When this was done, she sat and stared at it for a long while, lost in her thoughts.

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